Daddy Winchester
by HexyVexy
Summary: John gave Sam up to Bobby when he was a baby. 17 years later Daddy Winchester is back for his boy, but things have changed. The infant he left with Bobby is now a stubborn lad John can't help but feel something other than fatherly affection for.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** John gave Sam up to Bobby when he was a baby. 17 years later Daddy Winchester is back for his boy, but things have changed. The infant he left with Bobby is now a stubborn lad John can't help but feel something other than fatherly affection for.

**Warnings:** This story contains SLASH; John/Sam to be specific. It will have mentions of Genetic Sexual Attraction and will be GRAPHIC. I will of course have warnings in chapters that contain graphic content. This story is M rated for a reason. Also some spanking is involved in later chapters.

**N**o**t**e: The characters will of course be slightly OOC, due mainly to the fact this story is AU. Also, I suck at characterization. I have done my best however :) Dean is 21. Sam 17 and John is around 40.

-**D**addy **W**inchester-

**C**hapter **ONE**: Singer Salvage Yard

**JW**/_SW_

Nerves had no right to be fluttering in his gut like a swarm of riled butterflies. John wouldn't allow such an emotion to succumb him.

He gripped the steering wheel in his hands, his knuckles white. It was the first time in almost sixteen years that he would be seeing his son, Sam, again. After leaving him in the care of Bobby, John had left with Dean, intent on hunting down the demon that had crumpled his life like some used tissue.

He had phoned during those sixteen years, of course. He wasn't heartless and had made sure to check up on Bobby and Sam when the time allowed him. For the most part, as far as John had been told, everything with Bobby and Sam had gone smoothly.

Bobby had made certain that Sam was aware and understood that John had to do what was right for him. Leaving an infant in the care of a salvager was far kinder than taking the babe along to countless hotels and dragging Sam into such a twisted life was something John had never wanted to do.

Dean had been a different case. The boy had refused to be left at Bobby's. He had hugged his body close to John's leg outright and insisted he be taken with him. When John had conceded Dean felt the need to demand Sammy come too. It had been difficult explaining to a four year old just why baby Sam couldn't come with them.

The radio crackled as it sometimes did when a downpour was in the happening. John flicked his finger against the lever for the windscreen wipers and cleared the rain away. He was just minutes away from Bobby's, and the damned butterflies had tripled.

Immersed in his own head and whirling thoughts he didn't see Dean stir in his sleep and wake. It wasn't until the kid spoke that John snapped out of his daze.

"You're gonna break the wheel if you keep gripping it like that," Dean nodded to the white knuckled grip John was exerting on the innocent object, "you nervous?" he asked after a pause. John didn't see reason to deny it and so he nodded sharply, eyes glued to the water washed road.

John allowed the rumble of the engine and crackling from the radio to fill the car before he decided he could speak without throwing up butterflies. "It's been a long time since we last saw him." It was the biggest concern of John's that Sam would hold his long absence against him and condemn him a terrible father. He didn't confide this to Dean. The kid had enough on his mind as it was.

"Yeah, I know," Dean didn't sound nervous but John caught the thick swallow that bobbed down his throat and the way his eyes flicked around the car, as if to find something to take his mind off what was about to happen. "Long time since we've seen Bobby too." He added as an afterthought, a tiny grin on his lips.

John gave a dry chuckle that didn't meet his eyes and nodded. It had been only two nights prior that John had rang up Bobby and asked if he was free for a few weeks. To say the man was pleased that John and Dean were finally coming back was an understatement. If the man could do a dignified Happy Dance John was sure he would have.

_About bloody time, you said you'd visit every two years or so. What happened to that, eh? _Bobby's words were still very much echoing in John's head. He had felt a twinge of guilt, knowing he had indeed abandoned Sam for far too long to be considered polite.

It hadn't been intentional. Shit happened, demons seemingly sprouted form the earth and John and Dean had hunts to do left, right and center.

"You think Sam will be ok with us staying so long? He might be putout by us just rocking up and flaunting our, I don't know, us-ness…?" John had absolutely no idea what the twenty-one year old was taking about, and he squinted at the road.

"_Us-ness_?" he repeated gruffly. Dean nodded.

"Yeah, he's never really gotten to know us, and we all close and stuff. What if he feels left out?"

It was a thought that hadn't crossed John's mind until his son had so bluntly brought it up and slapped him in the face with it. Taking a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth John tried to quell the rising panic that Sam might be hostile against them. The more he looked at the situation the worse he realized it made him appear.

In truth he knew that Bobby had explained, as best he could, to Sam about the events that led him being left at the Salvage Yard, and John had spoken to Sam on the phone a few times when the boy had been younger. Sam had always seemed open and not in the least angered over John's decision.

Dean, as if sensing his fathers dread, sat up in his seat and ran a hand through his short hair, ruffling it slightly. "I'm sure Bobby's talked to Sam about us staying and all, it's not like Sam wouldn't know we're coming to visit." John could tell that Dean was trying to be comforting. Yet it helped very little.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," said John quietly, not fully believing his own words, "it'd be even better if I could swallow some poison to kill these damned butterflies." He growled to the rain spotted windscreen. If Dean was put out by his words he showed his disquiet minutely. A raised eyebrow and sideways glance was all John received in reply.

The radio hissed and the rain lessened somewhat as the Impala pulled into a loose gravel road. A large sign read; Singer Auto and John's heart pounded against his ribs. Mentally he freaked out, hoping that his breathing would level out before he passed out. Physically he was on autopilot, steering the car neatly up the drive.

This was it. This was the moment he met his baby Sam.

**JW**/_SW_

"John," Bobby exclaimed as he rushed past a burnt-out wreck that had once been a car, John smiled grimly in the way only he could and clasped hands with the older man, "c'here," Bobby muttered before pulling him into a rough, quick but welcoming hug. "Good to see you." He added as he pulled away.

"You too, Bobby." Replied John, he allowed Dean to brush past him and give the old man a quick, one armed hug. "Keeping well?" he questioned, looking over Bobby's dirtied clothes, he'd obviously been working. Whether on a car or a case John wasn't certain. Bobby still hunted; in fact he was an imperative man when it came to helping out Hunters.

Bobby shrugged his shoulders and sighed, "Busier than a one-eyed cat watching two rat holes. Have been getting a few Hunters around town, all looking into some disturbances that started last month," John followed Bobby as he turned and lumbered up to the doorstep. "Had one hell of a time getting Sam to stay out of it, I tell ya."

John almost smiled at that. He had known that Sam wouldn't be involved in hunting, Bobby had promised to keep him out of the actual hunts anyway, the fact that Sam knew of it and was interested in it gave reason why he would nag Bobby to find out more and to help. A true Winchester through and through it seemed.

"Bit of a hassle?" John asked empathically, making sure Dean was following them and not exploring the large expanse of cars. The first time Dean had seen the cars in Bobby's yard he had spent hours amongst them, playing imaginary games as only a child could. The young man was tagging along, looking everywhere, John though perhaps he was keeping an eye out for Sam.

Bobby chuckled in reply, "damn kid is as stubborn as a mule. Never been on a hunt in his life, but he sure has saved my arse plenty of times mind you," he swiveled his head to face John slightly, continuing through the musty, old house even as he spoke, "quick mind, your Sam," John did smile at that.

He would have felt pride, but he knew where the smarts came from and it wasn't him. "Just like, Mary." He said. Bobby flashed him a sad little smile.

They reached the living room and Bobby disappeared for a moment before returning with three bottles of beer. Dean was quick in opening his bottle with a hiss of the cap. John resisted rolling his eyes.

"It's good to see you again, boy," Bobby said to Dean, the young man smiled and swallowed a large mouthful of beer. "You've grown," John looked over at Dean, sure enough the kid had gotten taller and filled out, and he supposed by being with him most of the time he hadn't noticed the change. Would Sam have change dramatically too?

The last time he'd seen Sam was when the boy was no bigger than his forearm, bundled in a blanket and gurgling nonsense. He'd obviously have grown since then…and stopped gurgling nonsense he hoped.

What colour hair would he have? Both he and Dean had darkish hair, would Sam have hair like Mary? Would he be tall? Short? There were so many details that John didn't know about his youngest.

It was almost scary to have to find out.

Standing awkwardly in the room, unopened beer in hand, John made an effort to pay attention to Bobby and Dean as they rambled back and forth, catching up and swapping colourful stories.

It was difficult to swallow down the dry lump that climbed his throat. The thought that he was in the same house as Sam made him want to flee. He didn't, however. Reminding himself he'd faced down scarier sons-of-bitches than his own son.

He was about to interrupt the idle conversation that was centered on a Wendigo when he caught sound of the front door opening. It appeared he wasn't the only one, for Dean stopped midsentence and turned around. Bobby just watched both men blankly.

This is it,

_This is it_,

John wanted to jam his fingers into his ears to dull the scream of his thoughts. He was as ready as he ever could be, and held his ground, listening to the slow footsteps that approached the living room.

A shadow was cast in the doorway before Sam entered, and then he was there. Right in front of them, staring just as wide eyed at them as they were staring at him. His chestnut coloured hair was messy and fell about his flushed cheeks and into his eyes. He was short, shorter than John had imagined. He was all limbs and sharp angles, just like most teenaged boys.

He was wearing a pair of too-large jeans and a plain band t-shirt. He looked like a Winchester. A small, uncertain, innocent version of what he and Dean were. His baby Sam was, in John's opinion, differently the same.

Bobby cleared his throat after the silence and staring stretched on to become uncomfortable, immediately all eyes were on him. "I'll leave you three to get acquainted, I think." John wanted to yell at Bobby to stay, if only so he wasn't the only adult left in the room. He squashed down the desire and nodded as Bobby left, not before sending a meaningful glance at Sam.

Silence leaked back around them, smothering them like a flood might. Then Sam shifted and all eyes went to him. The teen raised his eyebrows more out of unease then anything else. John noticed his wide eyes and realized that if any of them were to feel comfortable enough to start a conversation someone would have to be brave enough to break the silence.

That someone was indisputably himself.

Not wanting to look like an idiot John breathed down the desire to say a tentative _hi_. He wasn't some school girl on her first day of school. He was a father and right now his son's needed him to be one and stand up tall.

"Sam," he finally settled on saying. His voice was gruffer than he had intended. Dean looked to him as did Sam. John was well aware his swallow could clearly be heard. "It's good to finally meet you, son." And it was. As awkward and nerve-racking as the situation might be, he was happy to finally be able to greet his youngest after so long a time.

It was the hesitant little smile that quirked Sam's lips that had John interested, it was almost a shy gesture, perhaps Sam _was_ shy. It certainly fit with his hunched shoulders and bowed neck. The boy's postured screamed submissiveness.

"Hullo," the boy said after a moment.

John thought he might not speak again, and was about to open his mouth and hope words came to him in time, when Sam's soft voice interrupted him. "Bobby said you'd be here today, I just didn't expect so soon."

John didn't need to force the smile that turned his lips up. It came naturally. "Weather held out until the home stretch. Thought we'd be caught in a flood." He answered more calmly.

It was Dean's turn to speak up and he did. "Good to see you, Sammy; nice t-shirt," he added with a pointed look at the AC/DC print Sam was wearing. Sam beamed and if it was possible the butterflies in John's gut grew bigger and rougher. He put it down to seeing his son happy, and to the relief of knowing Sam hadn't held anything against them for leaving.

"It's not mine, Bobby leant it to me." Sam felt the need to say. Dean just gave a one armed shrug, grinning at his little brother. It was obvious to anyone with sight that Dean was over the moon at having his baby brother close again. Like John, Dean had spoken to Sam over the phone on numerous occasions. The boy's got on well enough.

A movement caught the three Winchesters attention and Bobby entered the room, "alright then?" he queried, "we had our soap-opera reunion? Tears all dried?" Dean snorted laughter and John relaxed his shoulders, not realizing he'd been so tense and on edge.

Now that Bobby was back Sam looked inherently more comfortable. A flare of jealously bubbled up inside John's chest. His rational side knew it was only natural that Sam trusted Bobby more after spending sixteen years with the man. The small green-with-envy part of him wanted to be held higher in Sam's opinion than Bobby.

"Right then," Bobby clapped his hands together, "who wants Chinese?"

Dean was first to jump at the promise of food. John noted Sam just nodded his reply. Definitely _shy_ then, he pondered. The next few weeks would be interesting, if not somewhat uneasy. He'd have time enough to get to know Sam better, and Dean would relish the chance to get his hands gritty working on some cars.

**JW**/_SW_

The burn of tepid whiskey flushed down his throat, making him gasp and bang down the glass onto the tabletop. Bobby grinned at him from the other side of the desk. John just grimaced, tasting the old drink on his tongue.

"It's good to have you helping out, John. Hell knows this case has got me stumped." Said Bobby, he riffled through a large book, skipping through the pages like he knew what he was looking for. In truth, neither of them knew what they were up against. Seven missing persons and no evidence to what it could be.

Picking up a slim leather book, John opened it, without beginning to read he replied, "I've never seen a case like this one. No evidence of supernatural doings and yet half the town is over run with Hunters, looking for something they have no evidence on." he flicked a glance up at the older man, Bobby's eyes were distant, whether from the copious amounts of alcohol they had consumed or from thought, John wasn't certain.

"I'd say it was nothing; but something's up," Bobby's eyes cleared and he looked at John, "I've been a Hunter for a long time, and I can feel it in my bones. Something's coming." John didn't let the alarm show on his face; he raised his brows slightly and tilted his head to the side, asking silently for Bobby to elaborate.

The man obliged, "we've had ten new Hunter's blow into town this week," John watched as he took a large swill of whiskey from the bottle, "ten Hunters don't just show up for nothin' do they?" John shook his head. It was strange that so many Hunters were gravitating to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, especially with no evidence it was the supernatural causing the disappearances.

"What do you think it means?" he asked when it became apparent Bobby wasn't going to continue speaking.

"Hell if I know," he exclaimed, opening another book. "But like I said, can't be good."

John dipped his head to look at the book he was reading, old symbols covered the page. A line formed between his eyebrows as he frowned. "The trouble with not knowing what we're up against means that every book _might_ be helpful, we'll be here all night looking for a clue."

Bobby passed over the bottle of whiskey, "I hear ya. Not much else we can do, no leads to follow, no witnesses to talk to. It's read 'til out eyes fall out or do nothin'." The old man was right. Taking a long draught of the liquid John put his head down and got to work. If it was one thing all Hunter's had, it was patience, at least a trickle of patience to see them through the annoying step of investigating.

It was some minutes later when the sound of footsteps broke the humdrum of turning pages, sighs and the splash of whiskey against glass. John looked up to find a sleep ruffled, disgruntled Sam in the doorway. The boy just stood there, staring at both Bobby and himself, his hair was a nest of brown and indents from his pillow lined one cheek. John ducked his head to hide the smile that insisted it stretch his lips.

Bobby sat up straighter in his seat, "You alright, Sam?" he asked. Sam shrugged and then moved fully into the room. His baggy pyjama pants were crumpled. John noted absently the lack of a t-shirt, Sam's chest and belly were on display. For a kid who didn't hunt he was reasonably fit, with light definition to his abdomen. John turned away, wondering why he had indeed been noticing his son's body in such a way.

Before he could dwell too long on the flutter in his stomach Sam spoke.

"It's nothing much, just, well," he paused and sent John a small smile as if he were about to share a secret, "Dean snores." He said. John gave a huff of laughter. His eldest had a right habit of snoring. He'd shared enough hotel rooms with him to know just how off-putting it could get. While not loud, it was certainly disruptive. Dean had been told to bunk with Sam for the time they stayed at Bobby's, John wondered if that arrangement was going to work out if Dean kept up his snoring.

"Turn him on his side, it helps." John said and Bobby nodded along with the idea, Sam flashed him a shy smile in thanks, "and if that doesn't fix it, a pillow should." John winked at Sam. It was a second before Sam caught on to the meaning of his words and once he did he chuckled. It was the first time John had heard Sam laugh. It was quiet and breathy, and it made John smile wider for some reason.

Sam made to leave before pausing at the doorway, "I could help you if you needed it; you've been up all night." John looked to his watch. Sure enough it was nearing the early hours of the morning. Remembering what Bobby had said about Sam being good at research he wondered if Sam pulled all nighters with Bobby sometimes.

"Nah, we've got it covered. You go on and get some rest; you've got school in the morning." Bobby gestured for Sam to head on to bed, and obligingly the boy did. John huffed a sigh and went back to his book. He doubted they'd be getting any rest tonight.

**JW**/_SW_

"There's something awesome about a yard full of cars," Dean murmured through his mouthful of eggs. John noticed absently the flecks that were spat onto the tabletop. He would have chided Dean for his manners but Bobby was doing the same thing. "Hey, Bobby, can I have a look 'round later? Gotta busy myself somehow."

Bobby swallowed his own mouthful, "if it'll keep you out of trouble." He reasoned. Dean grinned and John was reminded just how much the boy took after himself. He'd have been ecstatic to explore a yard swamped with cars when he was younger.

Sam was sitting opposite John, his fork mashing up his eggs. He hadn't eaten much, preferring to play with his food. "Not hungry?" questioned John and Sam startled in his chair. He bit his lip and flushed when he realised he'd been drifting in his thoughts.

"Not really," he deadpanned. Bobby nudged him in the ribs lightly. "Not hungry, Bobby," Sam grumbled again and the old man sighed.

John flashed Bobby a concerned look. The man just shrugged, a promise to speak later held in his eyes. Letting the matter drop John started on his own plate of eggs and bacon, specially made by Bobby. Surprisingly it wasn't half bad.

The shrill call of a phone made all four men jump in their seats and then pretend they had been getting up to answer it. Bobby waved them to sit down and finish their breakfast and went to answer the phone. Not a minute later he arrived back in the room.

"Another missing person," he said directly to John. Dean perked up, interested in talk of a hunt. "Rufus said there's a witness, and she's sharing some odd details. Looks like this might be a break we need." John grinned, nodding as he did so.

He was strictly in town to see his son and catch up, but it wasn't outlandish to do a hunt on the side, and one so interesting had him wanting to find out what could be causing such clean disappearances.

* * *

**N**o**t**e: Obviously the slash content isn't going to be served straight up. I enjoy letting the attraction grow, and the characters have yet to even notice their feelings for one another. Next chapter will be from Sam's POV. Bobby and Dean will have their perspectives in later chapters :)


	2. Chapter 2

-**D**addy **W**inchester-

**C**hapter **TWO**: Fool Me Once, Shame on You

**JW**/_SW_

Numeracy was a subject that Sam wished never existed. It wasn't that he was terrible at it; in fact he was almost top of his class. Numeracy bothered him because it was one of the few classes he had to spend in the company of Mrs. Murphy. She was a middle-aged woman, pudgy around the middle with a large chest and flat brunette hair. She was nicknamed The Storm by most of her students, her quick temper was legendary, and more than one student had tasted the bile of her words.

It surprised Sam that she hadn't been sacked for some of the things students had reported her saying. He'd never gotten on with her, as much as he attempted to stay low and out of trouble she always found something to pull him up on.

Thankfully he only had numeracy twice a week.

Resisting the desire to sigh, Sam slumped down at his desk. He was early for class, only a few others were with him, slumped very much the same as he was in their seats, awaiting the moment Mrs. Murphy arrived.

The classroom door was elaborately opened with a smacking sound of metal against plaster and Sam startled in his seat, covering it up as a violent shiver once he noticed it was Brad Hawkins. It seemed his ignorance towards the other boy's entrance went down sour and Hawkins sauntered over to his desk, his beady eyes locked on Sam.

"Coming to class early, Winchester," he taunted in a sing-song voice that grabbed the classes' immediate attention. Sam wasn't in the mood and scowled up at the taller boy. "Trying to get on Murphy's good side?" chuckling Hawkins wiped the top of the desk, sending Sam's books and stationary to the floor with a clatter and flop. Hawkins' goons chuckled appreciatively at their leaders antics, which in turn made Sam narrowed his eyes with annoyance.

When Sam remained silent and didn't rise to the bait Hawkins kicked roughly at the desk leg. The small table skidded a few inches, upsetting Sam's slumped posture. He stood up, fully intending to say something awesomely witty, until Hawkins straightened his back and towered over Sam like an ominous stone building. Sam wasn't a coward by any stretch, but neither did he carry much bravado when he was out numbered and out-sized.

"What's the matter," jeered Hawkins, lifting his upper lip in a sneer, Sam grimaced at the boy's dirty front teeth. Hadn't he heard of a toothbrush? "Too chicken to have a go?" crossing his arms across his chest Hawkins chuckled, "why don't you sit back down like a good little teachers pet." The last straw came when Hawkins slapped him on the shoulder, as if he'd just given out some friendly advice.

"Why don't you fuck off?"

The words were falling from his tongue before he could self-censor. A few students tittered. Hawkins furrowed his eyebrows and his nostrils flared, it was the first warning sign Sam got. There was only two times a person's nose flared; when they were getting ready to flee, or when they were getting ready to fight. Judging by the rigid set of Hawkins shoulders Sam's bets were on the latter.

The second warning sign was the step the boy took towards him, he pitched his body forward and the little Winchester was well aware of what was coming next. When Hawkins threw back his arm and then brought a fist forward Sam was ready. He'd never fought before, but reflexes bent his knees until he was crouching on the cold linoleum floor, Hawkins stumbled for a moment and then righted himself.

Clearly embarrassed by his miss he kicked out at Sam, and this time Sam was lost on how to react. If he had been quicker on his feet he might have preformed a wild jump up as the kick when under him; but that fantasy died as soon as Hawkins boot landed square in his gut, winding him instantly.

Gasping for the air he'd lost, Sam fell forward, barely catching himself on his palms as he slumped over and coughed. He managed one shaky breath in before Hawkins kicked again, this time it got his side near his ribs, and pain flared down his torso, aching but sharp.

He thought he heard a girl shout out _stop_, but he was dazed from little oxygen.

Sitting on the floor with his head lolling forward and his stomach and side aching Sam repressed a groan, waiting for the next kick to come. The students were abnormally quiet and curiosity got the better of him. Lifting his head Sam looked around at the pale faces of his peers, it was only seconds later he noticed Mrs. Murphy standing in the doorway, a role-call folder held in one arm. She gazed at him fleetingly, her dark eyes seeming darker than usual.

Then she sniffed disdainfully and looked to Hawkins. "Finish up, Mr. Hawkins, and then we'll begin the lesson." Sam couldn't believe he was hearing such words spoken by a teacher. Did she not care that physical violence was strictly forbidden at the school? She swayed over to her large desk, her heels clapping on the ground. Hawkins was obviously shocked as well for he paused a moment before tentatively kicking Sam's leg, when Mrs. Murphy didn't say anything against it he gave one final, rough kick against Sam's hipbone.

Cursing under his breath Sam glared venom at the boy, watching him saunter over to an empty desk. No student dared speak up against Mrs. Murphy; they all sat down silently and ignored Sam as he staggered to his feet. A few pitying glances was all he got.

"Now," snapped the teacher crisply, a collective sound of students sitting straight in their seats went about the room, "all eyes on me for the next hour, we will be going over factions until you useless children understand." Given that the class had been working on fractions for the past week Sam could give any teacher slack to be annoyed. But Mrs. Murphy took it too far, she always did. "No calculators allowed, no cheating, and no talking. I'll hand out a worksheet and I want it completed in fifteen minutes."

Sam bowed his head and prayed he could make it through the lesson without being singled out. He'd already made a fool of himself with Hawkins – not that such an event was uncommon. Most every day Hawkins picked on him, shoved him and generally belittled him in embarrassing ways.

**JW**/_SW_

The cafeteria was crowded by the time Sam managed to get there. He squeezed past numerous chattering groups of girls who insisted that standing in the doorway was the perfect spot to catch up on gossip. A few of them scowled at him for pushing his way through but he paid them no mind. His gut was sore and his ribs felt bruised. He'd gone all morning and early afternoon with the pain and was beginning to get short-tempered.

Grabbing a tray he lined up, thankfully the line was short and he was served quickly. The lady behind the counter frowned as she dished out the food, her forlorn mood made Sam feel worse and he slinked over to an empty table with a pout.

The day had definitely not been wonderful. The beat up he received being the worst thing to happen, but in general his classes had dragged on and it appeared many of the teachers suffered Mondayitis; they'd been harsh and gave out piles of homework.

Mashing up the pasta dish he'd been given Sam ignored the shadow that was cast over him. Hawkins shadow to be exact. He was not in the mood to deal with the bully twice in one day, and so he fitfully kept his eyes on his food. Such a gesture apparently riled Hawkins.

"Hey fuck-wit," he said loudly, probably gaining a few inquisitive stares from the hordes of students. Sam flicked his eyes up despondently, figuring it'd be worse for him if he ignored the boy much longer. "Came to give you something," Hawkins continued in his deep drawl, Sam's gaze was shifty.

"I don't want anything from you, thanks." It was the only reply Sam could think of, his brain was stuck like a broken record, going over the same word. Avoid! _Avoid!_ He didn't want anymore trouble for the day. Hawkins leaned in closer and then smacked down a cup full of juice. A line of confusion creased between Sam's brows. "You brought me a drink?" he asked uncertainly. Hawkins nodded.

"Now drink it." Sam refused to. "Drink it or you get a black eye." The threat made him reconsider but he held his ground. He wasn't stupid. Quite clearly something had been put in the cup.

"I'm not thirsty, leave me alone."

Hawkins leaned closer, his gelled hair was pungent. "Take a fucking drink you Nancy-boy."

"Drink it yourself," so it wasn't the comeback of the year. It sufficed. Sam was all too aware of the stares they were receiving and shifted uncomfortably. He was thankful there were teachers around – nicer teachers than Mrs. Murphy – teachers that would help him out should Hawkins be so stupid as to hit him again.

Hawkins pursed his lips for a second and then abruptly stood up straight. Sam couldn't quite quell the flinch of his body. Hawkins noticed and grinned, "Fine, don't have a drink then. Can't force you," the boy paused thoughtfully, "at least not with everyone around." He amended. A chill lingered in Sam's spine once the teen had left with his juice cup and he shivered. He made a mental note to stay away from Hawkins and his goons for the rest of the school day.

His English teacher came over briefly during the remainder of the lunch break and asked if everything was alright with him and Hawkins. Having nothing to say he had nodded and assured her everything was okay. He didn't see the reason to go blab about the bully to the first person to show concern. He wasn't a preschooler; he could handle himself just fine.

At least that's what he told himself for the rest of the day as he slinked stealthily around corners like some ninja-spy and hid behind random students to avoid being spotted by Hawkins. He didn't dwell on the fact he was effectively not dealing with the situation and instead running from a confrontation that was eventually going to happen.

If he did his pride might have been shattered even more.

**JW**/_SW_

By the time the final bell rang to signal the end of the school day Sam was exhausted, mostly from nursing his injuries for the day, but also from avoiding Hawkins. He'd no doubt given the chance the boy would follow up on his words. And Sam didn't particularly want that to happen.

He was sitting in the speech and drama room, packing up his books. Most the class had rushed out of the classroom at the first resonance of the shrill bell. If Sam wasn't concerned about missing his bus back home he'd had lingered until most the students had left the school building. Less of a chance of running into Hawkins that way. As it was he had ten minutes until the bus left.

Collecting up his satchel Sam left the classroom and darted quickly down the wide hallway. He was almost to the exit doors when he spotted the shadow that was dogging his every move. It was larger than his own thin shadow and he shut his eyes tightly, hoping that if he wished hard enough the trailing Hawkins would disappear into a cloud of smoke. It wasn't so.

"Well, well," crooned Hawkins as he begun to circle Sam. It unnerved the slighter more than he'd ever admit. "I think we have some unfinished business to tie up, don't you?"

"Why," Sam began and his voice shot up a few octaves, he cleared his throat and tried again, "why are you doing this?" he asked. The question momentarily put Hawkins out. He frowned at Sam. "Why do you pick on me, out of everybody in this school?" it was a question he'd wanted answered for a long time.

Hawkins huffed a short laugh and rolled his eyes, "because you're a geek, because it's fun, because you don't fit in, because it's fun, because you have no friends, because you're too stubborn to tell on me, oh and did I mention it's _fun_?"

"You can't just tease someone because of those reasons; it'd be like if someone teased you because you gelled your hair into spikes." Which in Sam's opinion made him look like a wannabe boy-band member. He didn't say that bit out loud.

Hawkins bristled at the comment, "it's not the same fuck-wit and you know it. I'm the popular kid and you're not. You're low on the high school food chain; it's just the way it goes."

"You don't even know me!"

"Wouldn't want to know a fag." Retorted Hawkins with a sneer of his lips. Sam gave up trying to talk sense into the boy. Bobby had once said that the reason for people being idiots was because they had it bad themselves and so they took it out on others around them. Sam betted Hawkins life wasn't all smiles and sunshine. It didn't mean he wasn't about to hold a grudge on the boy for making his school life miserable.

They stood in silence for a moment and then suddenly Hawkins moved. He was quick considering his bulk and height and before Sam had time to employ any self-defense he was rammed up against the wall, squishing his satchel with his back. He whimpered involuntarily which made Hawkins chuckle.

"Let me go, Hawkins!" Sam shouted to counter his show of weakness; desperately he hoped a teacher would catch his words and come to investigate. Hawkins shushed him with an elbow to the ribs and Sam was prevented from doubling over by the boy's strength that held him flush to the wall. "Get off me." he gasped when the pain dulled.

"You forget already, you didn't drink the juice so now I'll rectify that." Pulling Sam away from the wall the taller teen dragged him bodily around the corner and into the boy's toilets. The smell of pine and citrus cleaner was overpowering. Sam struggled against the hold but got nowhere.

He was shoved forcefully to the ground. "Give me the bottle," Hawkins demanded, Sam looked up to see the two brothers who hanged out with Hawkins, both were dark haired and broad shouldered. They'd obviously been waiting in the toilets for Hawkins.

Great an ambush; just what he needed.

Sam got to his feet while the trio was busy fiddling with a simple soda bottle, he stumbled up against a cubicle door and it banged inward, making the three boys jump and advance on him quickly. He tried to run, really he did, but the exit was blocked and he was sore and tired. He didn't get three steps away before brother number one bear hugged him from behind, clamping his arms by his sides and lifting him easily off the ground as if he were some ninety pound girl.

"Let me down!"

"Shut up Winchester," the brother said, his chest rumbled with the words and he tightened his grip on the squirming boy in his arms. "Hurry up Brad, he's difficult to hold." Sam thrashed wildly even as Hawkins lifted the drink bottle to his lips and demanded he take a sip. It looked to be normal orange soda in the bottle.

"Oh for fucks sake, Jeff, get over here and hold his head for me." Brother number two moved away from the exit, swiftly he bunched a handful of Sam's hair in his fist and tugged on it painfully. Sam yelped, forgetting to keep his lips sealed and Hawkins took the moment to strike. In one quick movement he had poured the fizzy liquid into Sam's mouth and clumped his hand over the boy's lips to prevent him from spitting it out.

"'Hm 's 'tm?" Sam's words were muffled by the drink and hand and he had no hopes of making sense until he swallowed. Gritting his teeth he hoped that Hawkins hadn't put anything too nasty in the drink. With one loud swallow he downed the mouthful.

Only then did the hand allow him proper breath and freedom to talk. "What is it?" he asked once more. Hawkins shrugged while motioning for Jeff and his brother to let go of Sam. They did so, albeit roughly. The little Winchester sagged in relief against the wall of the cubicle.

"It's visine."

"What does it do?"

"You'll have to find that out on your own." Hawkins said with a toothy grin. He stepped closer to Sam, "have a good evening, fag." He jeered. Sam gasped in shock and hurt when the boy backhanded him quickly, leaving his right cheek throbbing and red.

"Come on let's get out of here, Brad." Sam watched blearily through misted eyes as the three students left, each one smiling at their cruel idea of fun. His ribs and tummy ached and added to his list of injuries was the stinging cheek and broken pride.

Hawkins had been right about one thing. He was stubborn and he wouldn't tell anyone what was happening, it's hurt too much to admit he'd been weak enough to get bullied. He was embarrassed and felt guilty. It was his fault Hawkins teased him.

Straightening up his satchel on his shoulder, Sam wrapped his arms protectively around his waist and left the toilets. He had missed his bus and would have to walk home. Not a fun prospect.


End file.
